


Don't Have To Talk Pretty

by milkysterek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Human, Cheating (not sterek), Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Courtship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Infidelity Outside of Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9514466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkysterek/pseuds/milkysterek
Summary: Stiles is a seventeen-year-old omega and still painfully unclaimed, which is probably the most socially embarrassing thing that can happen to someone of his age.Derek is older, grumpier and more eyebrow-ier than anyone Stiles has ever met before in his life and, rather unfortunately, has promised himself to Stiles' sketchy English teacher.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! 
> 
> **Heads up warnings, kinda:**  
>  In this universe, people are promised to each other by their parents at a young age so they can court and bond before they're of age to perform the mating ritual. Usually, they're promised to their classmates and people in their social circle but it isn't uncommon for someone to end up with someone older than them. For that reason, Stiles and Derek's courting isn't a sketchy subject but if this is something that makes you uncomfortable I've put the underage tag up there. 
> 
> Also, Derek and Jennifer are kind of together but there aren't feelings there on Derek's part - Derek sees it more as an obligation or an act of charity than a relationship. The infidelity tag is in regards to that. 
> 
> That's it, I think. I'll be trying to update once a day or once every two days but if you see me posting other long fics I haven't abandoned this or anything, I just have concentration problems and I need to bounce between works haha.

If Stiles thought that all bondmates were reduced to mindless, drooling shells of their former selves after their mating ritual, he probably wouldn't be so pressed about not having one of his own. The glazed over eyes, the constant dopey smile, brain fried beyond repair - count Stiles out! Not today, Satan! He shouldn't joke; the fate that has befallen his former best friend is nothing but a downright travesty.

Scott sighs, chin balanced in the palm of his hand and elbow propped up on the table as he gazes across the room at Allison who is gazing right back at him with the same look of barely there consciousness. Seriously, It's a god damn travesty. Plus, with all the longing looks he's been shooting across the room, Scott has neglected to write down his chemistry notes and so Stiles is probably going to have to give the asshole his own. Not that he minds all that much. _Not really_. Scott is happy - trapped in some sort of Romeo and Juliet-esque paradise where true love prevails and no thirteen-year-olds kill themselves for their boyfriends - but happy. And that's all that matters.

Bondmates don't usually perform the ritual until their eighteenth birthday but Allison's creepy ass parents weren't too fond of Scott so the two ran off in the middle of the night and mated in a shady motel out by the preserve. Mr and Mrs Argent were furious when they found out, to the point of shotguns being loaded, but once the ritual is done, it's done and there are no take backs. You'd think with all the drama going on that Scott's spirits would be at least a little dampened, but no.

Scott sighs again and Stiles rolls his eyes, closing his notebook and sliding it into Scott's bag as the final bell of the day rings. That seems to be enough to finally snap the star-crossed lovers out of their near permanent daze and they walk quickly over to each other, picking up hurried conversation instantly.

Stiles huffs a laugh and slings Scott's school bag over the boy's shoulder, patting him hard on the back once. "See you when I see you, buddy. Try and keep your eyes on the road on your way home." He doesn't get much of a response, not that he expects one, and longs for the day when the ritual has had the chance to wear off enough that Scott can form simple sentences with anyone other than Allison.

It's a lonely walk out to the parking lot surrounded by couples holding hands and making out and getting their happiness everywhere. Stiles hates them. Well, not really, but he is extremely envious of them. He's the only omega in his year who has yet to be promised to someone - if you don't count Greenberg, because who counts Greenberg? - and if he's honest, he's forever bummed out about it. He kind of gets it, though; he's sort of scrawny, extremely unathletic, barely goes a day without falling over in a public place and can't keep his mouth shut for shit. It's not some great mystery as to why alphas avoid him like the plague. Still a bummer, though.

Hopping in his sweet baby angel jeep of wonderment that is definitely not a rusting piece of crap like the rest of the student body would have you believe, Stiles heads for home where his trusty laptop, lube and files upon files upon files of mating porn are waiting for him. It's going to be a good night.

 

It is not going to be a good night.

When Stiles arrives home he finds his dad waiting in the hallway, an eager smile on his face. This is suspect for two reasons: firstly, since when does his dad smile eagerly about anything other than red meat - and John knows better than to try that after Stiles has had a long day at school and secondly, he's actually supposed to be at work right now. His dad never skips work. Not for anything.

"What are you up to?" Stiles asks carefully, stepping around his dad to dump his school bag by the stairs on his way to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and pulls out a drink, unscrewing the lid and tipping his head back to take a long gulp.

The sheriff hovers in the doorway, arms folded protectively over his chest before seizing his opportunity while Stiles' mouth is full of orange juice. "A new family just moved next door," His dad shares, feigning casualness. John moves over to the table, running his fingers along then wood until they brush up against a plate that Stiles hadn't noticed. The plate contains a batch of piping hot cookies. Stiles stares at them, orange juice held in his full cheeks. "Three alphas, so I've heard..."

Stiles' orange juice is promptly spat across the room and the sheriff looks at the splat marks sadly.

"Dad!" Stiles begins, his face turning beetroot red in an instant.

"I don't want to hear it," He dad frowns, tearing his eyes away from the wet patch. He turns back towards the cookies and picks up the plate. "You're going to go over there and play nice. You're seventeen, Stiles - and you're a good kid. Any alpha would be lucky to be mated to you." The sheriff's eyes are glassy and Stiles knows his unbondedness weighs on his dad's mind, but this is so fucking embarrassing.

Stiles smacks his head back against the fridge and puts his drink down, accepting his fate. He holds out his hands for the plate and his dad passes it over with a grateful smile. "They're all gonna know why I'm there, you know that, right?" He groans and starts towards the front door.

"The youngest girl is the same age as you and she doesn't have a bondmate either," His dad encourages, walking with his hand on Stiles' shoulder in moral support. "But you're not going over like that. Go shower and get changed. Wear something presentable."

Stiles raises his eyebrow at his father, "Then why did you give me the cookies?"

"It was symbolic," John smirks and takes the cookies back before pointing at the staircase. "Now, go!"

Stiles lets out a frustrated noise that definitely isn't huffy at all and storms up the stairs, "I hate you!"

 

The wait for the Hales to open their front door is excruciating. Before Stiles left, his dad had given him the family's surname, so at least he isn't going in completely blind. Not that that compensates for much. His dad is a traitor, a damn dirty traitor! Whatever happened to Stilinski men stick together? Stiles is starting to think that that motto was a one time deal designed to save his dad from having to go to dinner with Stiles' grandmother alone. Traitor!

The house is pretty from the outside. The Hales keep a nice lawn and although they've only been moved in a few days, it looks like they've already started to plant some flowers. From the porch where he's standing with a plate of cookies like a fucking dick, he can see a quaint little living room with a warm fire in front of a sofa and a television playing softly in the background. The window is framed with frilly yellow drapes and a purple vase sits on the sill, full to the brim with red roses. It's pretty - like he said.

A figure appears behind the door, face obscured by the glass and Stiles takes a step back. He listens to click if the door unlocking and inhales deeply, readying himself and smiling nice and bright and neighbourly when the woman reveals herself. She's tall, slender, but there's something in the way that she holds herself that screams _alpha_.

Dressed in tight black jeans with rips at the knees and a too big, men's red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the woman smiles dazzlingly back at him. "You must me Stiles," Stiles nods in way of reply and, if it's possible, the woman smiles brighter still. "I'm Laura. Come in, come in."

Stiles follows her into the house and down a hallway, fingers gripping his plate until they turn white. He knows it's stupid to be nervous. Their house is nice, Laura seems nice, they're probably not serial killers. They probably won't harvest his organs. That's not why he's silently freaking out, though. Despite his reluctance to come over and the pink glow of embarrassment that is still highlighting his cheeks, this is Stiles' big break. This is his chance to prove himself, to win a mate. All he has to do is behave, and really, how hard can that be? The answer to that is most likely very, but Stiles refuses to be pessimistic about this. He needs to be good this time. He can't screw it up - for his dad if nothing else. And maybe this girl will be nice. Maybe they'll be happy.

Laura leads Stiles into the living room and gestures for him to sit down on the couch which matches the curtains he had spotted through the window. "Are these for us?" Laura asks, nodding towards the plate that now sits in Stiles' lap. Stiles nods, unable to find his voice, because, for a third time - _he's fucking embarrassed_. Laura seems like a kind and merciful woman however and doesn't point his timidness out. Maybe this is normal behaviour for an omega. "Would you like to give them to Cora? She'll be down in just a-"

There's a sound of heels on wood flooring coming from the bottom of the stairs and soon Stiles is met with a slim brunette who looks strikingly like her older sister. Cora, Stiles presumes that's her, has slightly lighter hair that Laura, her features are softer and she looks a little less like a runway model, but she's still beautiful and the family resemblance is strong.

"Cora," Laura holds her hand out towards Stiles and parts her lips in a toothy grin. Unlike the smile that greeted Stiles at the door, this one is tenser and somewhat fake. It makes Stiles' omega instincts uneasy. So does being in a room with two alphas, though, so it's not like he's having the best time anyway. "This is Stiles. He's the omega from next door that Jordan was telling us about, remember?"

"I remember," Cora answers sweetly and it makes Stiles shudder. There's nothing natural about her tone and Stiles feels kind of out of the loop. Especially when Laura dips her head ever so slightly in submission. Cora eyes him appraisingly, dragging her dark eyes up and down his body like she's trying to judge then and there whether or not he's worth her time.

Stiles takes a deep breath and sits a little straighter. "These are for you," He says, giving his best Stilinski smile as he holds the plate up for the girl who is still stood in the centre of the room.

Cora stares at them for a long time before sighing and taking the cookies half-heartedly. She doesn't seem very enthusiastic about his offer and Stiles deflates. The entire point of the cookies is to prove that he can cook, he could be a good little househusband and would be able to take care of any eventual pups while his alpha was out doing whatever it is alphas do. And, yeah, Stiles' dad had been the one to actually cook them, but what does that matter? It's the thought that counts!

"Thank you," The alpha shrugs and sits down beside Stiles, puffing out her cheeks and looking thoroughly bored. It's kind of humiliating. He's glad his dad isn't here to see it. When he goes home, which will hopefully be soon, he'll try and make it sound a lot less worse than it is. She doesn't even try one of the cookies.

The deafening silence that follows makes Stiles want to fidget and pick at his hands but he'd prefer for the Hales to not find out how little self-control he has just yet. He removes temptation by shoving his hands under his thighs and turns his head towards Laura - thinking he's more likely to get a conversation out of her - and smiles politely. "Who's Jordan?"

Laura beams then, twining her manicured fingers together as she sits forward. "Jordan's my mate. Your father just hired him down at the station as a deputy. It was his first day yesterday. Apparently, he and your dad got to talking and it seems you and Cora have a lot in common. You like comic books, Cora likes comic books. You support the Mets, Cora supports the Mets. You eat overly greasy fast food that'll take ten years off your life, Cora eats overly greasy fast food that'll take ten years off her life. You're both sarcastic, you're both funny and you both pretend to be obnoxious when you're both secretly sweetie pies. See, lots of stuff in common!" The woman pauses, eyes glittering and claps her hands together. "Ugh, stupid me, older sister totally cramping your style," She laughs lightly and stands, brushing herself down. "I'm going to go hang out in my office and do important grownup stuff and leave you crazy kids to get to know each other. Cora," Her bubbly tone disappears and she sticks her little sister with a stern look. "Behave."

"Whatever," Cora calls and just like that, Laura is gone and it's back to dead silence. Well, at least he knows how his dad found out about the people living here being alphas. Stiles would have to look out for this Jordan guy. Stiles would blame him for his misfortune. He also makes a mental note to speak to his dad about the consequences of gossiping about his only son in the workplace.

Really? His dad thinks  _he_ eats too much fast food?

Pursing his lips, Stiles straightens his legs and rocks his feet from side to side. It's awkward, so thoroughly awkward. No one is speaking. _Cora is not speaking_. And even though it was thought impossible until this very moment by virtually every person Stiles has ever met, he can't for the life of him think of anything to say either. Torture would be more pleasant than this right now. Shove a nail in is kneecap, he doesn't care, just end this suffering. "Soooo..." He begins but Cora cuts him off quickly, turning around and staring him down.

"Look," She grumbles, "It's not you, it's me."

 _Well, that's fucking rude._ Stiles blinks at her, face heating, because either she's far enough up her own ass to think that he's stupid enough to fall for that, or she's just saying it to be deliberately cruel. Like this is some kind of big joke. Like Stiles is a big joke. "Are you _serious_ right now?"

"I think we should see other people," She nods, full of fake sincerity. Then offers in a sickly sweet tone, "We can still be friends?"

Stiles runs his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and stands, shaking his head. "I don't know what my dad's been saying about me, but I'm not that desperate, so you can _stick_ your _fucking_ -"

He pauses mid-sentence, staring at Cora disbelievingly as she starts to full on giggle. She covers her mouth with her hand and tries to hide behind her hair but Stiles can still see that she finds his humiliation utterly hilarious. "Stiles, sit down," She waves her hand and relaxes back into the sofa, letting her legs fly out, taking up most of the space in the way that most alphas do. When Stiles simply continues to stare at her, Cora looks down. When she finally meets his eyes again, something about her looks different. It's like she's softer now, less dark and cruel and intimidating. "I'm not trying to be a dick. Sit and I'll explain."

Reluctantly, Stiles does as he's told, glaring at the floor so he doesn't have to look at her. "What are you trying to be, then?"

"Truthful." Stiles whips his head up when he hears her huff another laugh. "I mean, it's not your fault that I'm a raging lesbian, so it really is me." She smiles gently when Stiles' mouth drops open into a small 'o' shape. "I do think we should see other people and I'd like for us to be friends, too. It would be for the best. We're too Mets fans in California; our kind has to stick together."

Unable to find anything to say to that, Stiles just nods blankly until Cora punches him hard in the arm, knocking him into the arm of the sofa. "Ow," He grumbles and rubs the tender spot that he's sure will be bruised up nicely tomorrow. As painful as it is, he kind of likes it. He and Scott used to roughhouse like that when they were kids before Stiles started letting out omega-sweet pheromones that told Scott he was far too breakable for that kind of play and had to be handled with care.

"Sorry. Not used to omegas." A light blush peppers her cheeks and she hides behind her hair again. She really is beautiful and that's not just his omega hormones speaking because, for all her beauty, he isn't exactly attracted to her. Not like that. Still, the girl is gorgeous and he can't help but wonder how she wasn't bonded to someone years ago.

Stiles sighs and gives an experimental smile. It isn't that difficult and Laura and Jordan and his dad - assholes - were right. They really do have a lot in common. It would be a shame to let a tiny misunderstanding and a hurt ego ruin that. Stiles isn't a childish person... well, he is but there is more than one way to be childish. Whatever, the point is that he isn't going to let what could be a wonderful friendship go to waste. Plus, Stiles could use another friend after losing Scott to mind control.

"You really want to be my friend?" He asks, tentatively.

Cora nods and grabs a cookie, shoving it in her mouth, showering the sofa with crumbs. "Sure. I start school tomorrow and I don't know anyone. It'd be nice not to sit at lunch alone."

She grins around her cookie and Stiles feels himself doing the same back. "I could give you a ride?"

"That'd be great," She offers out the plate for Stiles and he takes one. "My brother's supposed to drive me but I'm pretty sure Laura's forcing him on pain of death. You might know him, he's lived here all his life. Derek Hale?"

Stiles shakes his head. He's never heard of him.

"I'm not surprised. He keeps to himself. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, right?" The two stand and Cora brushes the cookie crumbs off of herself. Stiles nods and even though he's going to have to go home and tell his dad that he's had no luck, he's optimistic in the fact that at least he's got a new friend. And a cookie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://milkysterek.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

The sheriff hadn't been thrilled when Stiles had returned home the night before with no success in the mate department and not even an extra cookie for commiseration's sake. Stiles could probably deal with it if his dad got mad, threw things, called him exactly what he is: a failure. But John Stilinski has never been like that. Instead, he clapped his hand in the centre of Stiles's shoulderblades, marking him thoroughly with his scent and discharged him for the night. After Stiles was in bed, he heard the hauntingly familiar sound of the liquor cabinet opening and he tried not to hate himself too much. _John doesn't drink because he's disappointed in you; John drinks because he's disappointed in himself_. He can never remember who told him that, but he's pretty sure it's bullshit. Everyone know's his dad drinks for two reasons: Claudia and Stiles.

Cora's a pretty good passenger. Now that she's not so put on the spot, she's actually quite quiet - nothing like her older sister who talks like a freight train and almost puts Stiles himself to shame. He wonders if Cora mentioned to Laura that they wouldn't be working out because when he picks her up that morning, Laura looks practically ecstatic at the prospect of the two of them being in a confined space together. He voices his question to the younger alpha but she just shrugs and looks out of the window which Stiles doesn't take too personally. He thinks that maybe this is just how she is.

They get to school a few minutes early so Cora can meet the principal and Stiles hangs around in the seats outside, content in his invisibility. He watches the students pass by; an alpha has his arm draped around an omega, they're both listening intently as another alpha talks, chin held high as she flicks her strawberry blonde hair behind her shoulders. Stiles knows her - or, he doesn't know her _personally_ , but he knows _of_ her. He knows of her very well indeed.

Her name is Lydia Martin and she's probably the most eligible alpha left at Beacon Hills High and even Stiles being the only unclaimed omega in the entire fucking school doesn't get him on her radar. It kinda sucks for the ol' self-esteem, but what can you do? Lydia finishes what she's saying, whatever that is, and strides off, parting the sea of students as she goes. The bonded couple - Jackson and Isaac who he also knows of very well for more _unfortunate_ reasons - look at each other once before deciding it's probably in their best interests to follow her.

"I'm done," Cora mumbles from beside him and Stiles yelps, jumping out of the waiting chair. Cora just raises one sculpted brow and gives him a second to calm down. There's a barely there twist to her lips though so Stiles is pretty sure she isn't judging him _too_ hard. "He gave me my class lists. I have geography."

Regaining his composure, Stiles smiles and offers her his arm which she promptly rejects with an unamused shake of her head. "Come on," Because never let it be said that Stiles Stilinski can't bounce back, "I'll walk you; the geography rooms are on the same corridor as the history ones."

 

Stiles enjoys history. He can sit through hour after hour, watching the most mundane of documentaries on kings and queens or wars or protests. He loves books on dead poets and finding out about ancient art and the societies that created them. There's something in learning about the past that sucks him in, to the point that his concentration issues hardly bother him at all.

Concentrating, however, is a difficult thing to do when your friend is not so sneakily trying to sniff your neck. If Stiles had thought that the only thing he needed to do was make a new friend to snap Scott out of his Allison Argent centred trance, he would have been stalking the entire student body for months now.

After Scott's nose literally brushes against Stiles' skin, he slaps the boy away and sticks him with an irritated frown. "Dude, _what_?"

"You smell like someone," Scott goes to sniff again and Stiles wriggles out of his reach, giving his best _what the fuck_  expression in the process. "You smell like another alpha." There's a small pause while Scott does something complicated with his face. "I don't like it."

The teacher is still talking, completely oblivious to Scott and Stiles' little domestic that's taking place in the second row, but Stiles turns his attention back to the front anyway for politeness sake. "Well," He says, quietly and with his eyes glued to the slideshow that he doesn't need to follow too closely since he knows pretty much everything there is to know about twentieth century Russia. "It's a good thing that's none of your business, bro." He nudges Scott in the ribs and gets an _oopf_ in return. "I thought you'd be excited that I'd get to join your brainwashing cult?"

" _Oh my, God_ ," Scott hisses in an excited little rasp, still winded a little from the elbow jab. "Did you meet someone? Are they nice? Are you going to bond? What's their name? You should tell Allison, too. I'll do it for you."

"Woah, woah, woah. Hold on buddy." Stiles blushes sheepishly because, while Scott's excitement may be going unnoticed by their teacher, it certainly isn't slipping their classmates attention. "She's just my neighbour. We're friends, but it's not like that. We're not going to bond."

Scott looks visibly defeated after that, it's kind of like those videos where the parent tells the kid they ate all of their Halloween candy and the kid just kind of accepts it. It's sad, really. Weirdly, when the bell for dismissing class rings, instead of immediately running to Allison's side, Scott steps in time with Stiles and walks with him to their next class. It's nice and Stiles tries not to think about how much he's missed it.

 

English is the third lesson of the day, right after morning break and Stiles tries and fails not to groan too loudly. He's good at English and he likes the subject enough - it's just his fucking teacher. She doesn't radiate _don't let me near your children_  like Harris and she isn't visibly insane like Finstock, but there's something about her that just doesn't sit well with Stiles. He isn't the only one either. Heather doesn't like her and she doesn't even go to the same school as Stiles so has never actually met the woman - she gets all her info from Harley, her bondmate and alpha, and that's good enough for her.

Either way, all the omegas agree; there's something wrong with Miss Blake.

Stiles takes his seat in the aisle next to Lydia, sparing her a quick glance from the corner of his eye before fishing out his textbooks and sprawling them out on his desk. It's only a few moment's later when Cora marches in. Stiles shoots her a smile but it's completely ignored. She's too busy glaring at the floor, hiding her face behind her long hair like a veil.

Stiles wonders what's wrong but is distracted from that thought by Miss Blake, who grins like a Cheshire cat and wraps her long, spindly fingers around Cora's slim wrist. Cora gives an aborted tug back but the teacher keeps her grip tight and turns to face the class. "Everyone," Miss Blake smiles in that weird grimacing way that makes her look like she's just smelt something particularly unpleasant but is trying not to show it. "This is Cora Hale. She's new. Be nice to her and share your notes." She laughs, probably expecting the class to join in, however, barring a few unbonded alphas, nobody does. An awkward silence follows and Miss Blake tugs at her dress, straightening it out and mutters, "Cora, go take a seat."

Cora does. Very quickly. Quick enough that it turns heads and Stiles wonders if she can smell what he and the rest of the omegas can.

Most of the students don't like Miss Blake but it's not for some malicious reason. She tries too hard to be down with the kids and honestly, it's uncomfortable for everyone, even the few alphas and sparse handfuls of betas who can tolerate her. It's just a case of kids not finding their teacher funny.

For the omegas, it's something else entirely.

Miss Blake doesn't smell right. She's an omega, everyone is sure of it, but an omega's scent should be sugary sweet, intoxicating yet gentle on the senses at the same time. Instead, Miss Blake is too sickly and potent. The betas can ignore it for lack of interest and the alphas don't care because _unmated omega, unmated omega, unmated omega_ \- _teenagers_ , Stiles thinks. To the other omegas and himself, however, the difference is like a blaring alarm. Her scent makes him queasy when she gets too close to the point that he holds his breath now when she passes him. Spending too much time with her gives him migraines and his vision blurs and it's just - off, not right, weird. He can't find the right word. He just knows he doesn't like it - and neither does Heather or Allison or Jackson and any other omega that has ever come in contact with the woman.

Once the lesson has started and Miss Blake is doing her normal routine of 'I'm cool and awkward, please, please like me' which Stiles strongly suspects is put on, he leans back as if he's stretching to where Cora is sat behind him. "You okay?" He whispers.

Cora flicks his hand, that must be getting in her way, with her pen. "Yeah, fine," She whispers back. "I can't stand that bitch."

Stiles raises his eyebrows because that's kind of strong. Sure, she's creepy as hell scent wise, but in the ten seconds she'd been in proximity with Cora, she hadn't been too obnoxious. "You know her?" He asks, not thinking it likely since Cora had only just moved into town, but also dismissing the thought that Cora was simply bitchy for the sake of it.

The alpha is quiet for a moment and Stiles is about to start jotting down notes again, thinking she's done with this conversation, when she answers, "She's dating my brother. I hate her."

"That bad, huh?" Stiles can't imagine being forced to spend time with Miss Blake outside of school hours. He wonders if she's so _blah_ in her downtime too. Probably. People like that usually are. He shudders in solidarity for Cora and her struggles.

Stiles tries not to yelp again when Cora's lips graze his ear. She must be leaning right over her desk, not giving a fuck whether or not Miss Blake catches her talking. "Every night before I go to bed, I pray she gets eaten by a mountain lion."

Once Cora has pulled away and is sat back in her seat, Stiles exhales and slumps further into his own. "Hardcore."

 

"Are you doing anything tonight?" Cora asks on the ride home.

Stiles is staring at the road, ignoring the fact that Scott and Allison are _definitely_ following him in Allison's car which is decidedly weird. He doesn't understand those two. One minute he doesn't exist, the next he has a vehicle escort. He had texted them five minutes ago when he had figured out that the were stalking him but neither of them were answering their phones. It probably wouldn't piss him off so much if Miss Blake hadn't made him read at the front of the class, getting her scent all over him in the process and thoroughly ruining his mood for the rest of the day.

He shakes his head, shooting one last glare in the rearview mirror before turning his attention back to Cora. "Always presume I am doing nothing after school."

Cora huffs and bends her knees so she can get her feet up on the seat. "Cool, cause my sister has invited you to dinner tonight and I've already told her you're coming."

Stiles blinks over at her and she blushes.

"You're not really going to make me endure family dinner alone, are you?" Stiles isn't fully buying whatever it is that Cora is selling, but they're friends now and friends never abandon each other in their time of need.

Also, he's a morbid fucker and he's interested to know what makes her family dinners so painful that she needs to _endure_ them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone correctly guesses what's up with Jennifer before I reveal it later in the story you're not invited to my birthday party I'm sorry I don't make the rules.
> 
> Also, Derek's in the next chapter. Fuck yeah.
> 
> [tumblr](http://milkysterek.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have posted this earlier today but my psychiatrist rocked up and that throws everything off but I got it finished which is the main thing, even if it is technically tomorrow. Like, it's 2am. You know what I mean. 
> 
> This didn't exactly go how I wanted it to but the entire point of writing this fic was so I could challenge myself to post on a daily basis and get something out there since I tend to plan fics for months down to the tiniest detail until I can't be bothered to actually write the thing. This isn't my best writing, is what I'm saying. But I'm still enjoying doing it so I'm not gunna stop.

Stiles and Cora are no longer friends.

He'd arrived at the Hales' house at six, promptly on time and in relatively good spirits. Even though he had told his dad the day before that Cora was just going to be his buddy, his pal, his BFF if you will, that didn't stop the man from being mistakenly optimistic. He even gave Stiles one of those 'go get em, son' dad winks and squeezed his shoulder on his way out.

The second Cora had opened the door, all fake smiles and sparkling eyes, dressed in a skin tight, black cocktail dress and her hair in a side braid, Stiles regretted his decision. Miss Blake's not right scent hit him almost instantly and he had to grab the doorframe while he waited out the dizziness.

It had all been downhill from there.

 

Stiles is currently sat in the same spot he was yesterday, perching on the edge of the canary yellow couch with Cora at his side, grasping the drink she had handed to him on his entry, thirty whole minutes ago. Laura and their brother Derek were out someplace and Cora had been promising that they were on their way back from the moment Stiles had first sat down.

Miss Blake, however, ("Oh, Stiles. Call me Jennifer,") had decided to come over early to help with the meal and Stiles has now been sat with her - _outside of school hours_ \- for thirty fucking minutes! Just kill him. That's all he wants. Tell his dad he loves him and end his life.

She isn't even being that annoying. Obviously, Stiles had been wrong about her being a _blah_ person twenty-four-seven because she's sitting relatively quietly now. At one point, Stiles' last English essay came up and he had considered impaling himself on the poker that sits conveniently by the fireplace. However, he didn't want to be rude by getting blood on their brand new carpet so he quickly dismissed that idea. He's been brought up better than that.

So, while her mouth is doing her a favour tonight, that leaves her scent as the mood dampener. And, boy, is it bad. He honestly doesn't know how alphas can't smell it. Cora has a look of mild distaste on her features but that's just because she doesn't like Jennifer's personality. He's almost completely sure Cora can't smell what he and the other omegas can and it kind of bums him out. He'd like to be able to whine at someone about how sick he suddenly feels without them looking at him like he's odd. Or pregnant. A lot of people think the omegas that complain about Jennifer are pregnant - something to do with pregnancy changing your tolerance for certain smells or whatever.

The conversation had died a few minutes ago and Stiles bounces his legs before turning to Cora. She looks uncomfortable and tired and Stiles feels a brief pang of guilt for what he's about to do. He did only meet her yesterday, though, and not even he forms loyalties that quickly. "Can I use your bathroom?" He asks, not needing to use it at all.

Cora deadpans and he knows he's been caught but he doesn't care. Freedom awaits. If he's punished for his treacheries later, well, that's a problem for another time. "Upstairs, first door on the right."

 

The Hales' bathroom is just as cutesy as the rest of the house. It's strange because from what he knows of Cora, he can't really see her picking this colour scheme. He thinks that maybe Laura is the one who decorates. Or who knows; perhaps this Derek character is into cute, frilly toilet seat covers and grandma ornaments. Cora did say that her brother already lived here before they moved so Stiles thinks it's probably more likely that he has his own place. Maybe he lives with Jennifer. Poor soul.

There's a window above the bathroom skin and Stiles reaches up and pushes it open, shivering when the cool ceramic touches his exposed skin where his shirt has ridden up. He pulls his clothes back in order and takes a seat on the side of the bath because sitting on the toilet when you're not using it is weird - that's where the butts go.

He breathes in deeply, allowing the fresh air to help clear his foggy mind. The sickness is starting to fade and his eyes are feeling less like they're about to explode out of his face and more like he just accidentally poked them. Stiles wonders if Jennifer is ill and that's why she smells so weird. Or perhaps she's infertile. Laws may have changed in recent years surrounding omegas but there is still a huge stigma against omegas that can't produce young. Stiles has never actually met one; they usually lay low on the outskirts of society. Perhaps that's the reason for her strange scent. He feels a little guilty now. The stigma has always irritated Stiles and he never wants to help feed into it.

Still, he feels like he'd have heard about it or at least seen someone discussing it on the internet by now. Surely it was too strong to go undocumented.

It's then that Stiles hears the front door opening and quickly flushes the chain, not wanting to be that guy who spends too long in the bathroom. No one wants to be that guy.

He washes his hands for appearance's sake and stomps back down the stairs like a herd of elephants. His dad is always complaining that he thinks Stiles has fallen every time he comes down from his room because of all the noise he makes. Stiles thinks his dad has cop paranoia and needs to take a vacation. Not everything is an emergency.

It's when he's at the bottom step that he sees him.

Stiles pauses, one foot hovering in the air, frozen before he could step down onto the floor. He stares.

He stares because the guy in front of him is staring back. Not moving, not blinking - _just staring_. And Stiles... Stiles can't break eye contact. There's something heavy in his throat that weighs down and _hurts_. His face feels hot and a small part of him thinks that he should be embarrassed because he's probably blushing. Another part of him thinks he should definitely be embarrassed because he's clearly biting his lip.

Derek is unquestionably handsome. He's all strong, broad shoulders and dark shadows. He has a stubbled jaw, inky black hair and dazzling eyes that are a gorgeous mixture of greens and almost golden flecks. He has big arms, too. _Great big arms_. Stiles thinks wildly that Derek could certainly carry his weight with little effort at all. Could lift him up, press him against a wall, crowd into his personal space until-

" _Stiles_ , this is my brother Derek," Laura says in a rush, her own cheeks tinted pink. "Derek, this is Stiles. Let's go be in the living room. Now."

Stiles is mortified because that was the hurried speech of a woman who knows what's going on inside a seventeen-year-old boy's mind, of a woman who has peered into Stiles' thoughts and seen the horrors within. The _naked_ horrors.

Stiles just hopes his scent isn't too obvious.

 

Dinner is tense. Laura serves her homemade lasagne with wine for herself and Jennifer, ice cold lemonade for Stiles and Cora and a plain water for Derek. The food is delicious and under different circumstances, Stiles would be singing Laura's praises and begging for her recipe but as it is he's a little too preoccupied trying not to look at Derek - who is still staring. Stiles nudges some mince with his fork and keeps his eyes on his plate at all times but even now he can still feel Derek's burning gaze on the side of his face.

Laura and Cora are chatting together about school; Laura asking how her first day went, Cora giving noncommittal grunts in the way of answers. Everyone else is silent and curiosity gets the better of Stiles. He tries to steal a sneaky glance in Derek and Jennifer's direction only to be instantly caught by Derek. He doesn't like the way the alpha makes him feel. He makes him all clammy like his skin is too tight and he needs to claw his way out of it. And, yeah, that's not great. In fact, Stiles is _pretty damn sure_ being attracted to your teacher's boyfriend is probably the shittest situation you can be in academically.

"Stiles," The boy flicks his head up, face heating as he gives Jennifer his attention. There's something odd going on with her expression, something a little off that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. He isn't stupid; he knows it most likely has to do with him getting his lust stink all over the dinner table. If he doesn't flunk English after this, it'll be a miracle. "So, how did you and Cora meet?" Jennifer smiles but her lip quirks up a little too high making it look like a snarl.

Stiles watches as Derek's face contorts in brief confusion before settling on his default emotionless. Cora has gone rigid against Stiles' side. "Uhm," Stiles blanches, placing his knife and fork down carefully on the floral china plate. "I guess my dad sent me over?" He offers. The question is a little odd for someone who is just the next door neighbour.

"Jordan works with Stiles' father. He's the county Sheriff," Laura assists, taking a long gulp of her wine.

Jennifer grins but it's almost like she's baring her teeth, "That's nice." She leans across to Derek then who's sat beside her stoically. He doesn't even blink when she places her painted lips against his throat and kisses. It's too long and too there's too much meaning behind it. Stiles has to avert his eyes. When she pulls away again, only far enough so that she's still leaning into his chest, Derek's neck is marked with his lipstick and spittle.

Cora clears her throat and fiddles with her napkin, running it through her fingers. The atmosphere in the room is painfully tense and he can't help but feel like an interloper. He comes into their home, fantasises about their brother in front of his girlfriend who may or may not be infertile. It's not the most polite thing a guest can do. It wouldn't be as bad if Derek wasn't so completely obvious as to what is going on. Even when Jennifer was talking to him, he had still been blazing holes into Stiles with his eyes. He obviously knows what Stiles is thinking and hates it. Like, who wouldn't? It's completely inappropriate.

"Where is Jordan tonight?" Cora asks, and god bless her for taking the heat off Stiles.

Jordan is working a double with Stiles' dad, kissing some ass and writing up some paperwork. The conversation carries from there and Stiles is free to lose himself in his thoughts, for the most part, giving agreeing head nods and hmm-ing his approval when necessary. Derek hasn't spoken to Stiles the entire night and only grunts and growls when Laura or Jennifer try to coax anything out of him. He still keeps staring, though. One time, Stiles catches him licking his lips.

 

It's eleven thirty when he announces it's time for him to leave and Cora gives him a companionable nudge from her seat. He smiles back at her and slaps her shoulder. Laura sees him to the door.

"You know," Laura sighs, leaning against the doorway when Stiles is on the porch, about to descend the stairs and walk out onto the lawn. Light is spilling from the house and it illuminates Stiles, his shadow dragging long into the street. "My family can be a little... robotic?" She tries, the last part of her sentence going up in question. Stiles can't help but smile at her. "But, we're good people. Derek and Cora are shy but they're nice. You just... have to get to know them, that's all."

He isn't sure what to say about that so he just nods and clears his throat, "Yeah, sure."

The woman nods and steps back into the house. "Night, Stiles."

"Night."

Turning his back on the door, Stiles takes the porch steps two at a time and strides across the yard. The grass is wet from cool dew and the crisp night air does wonders for what is now a roaring headache. Stiles thinks for a moment about poor Jordan who, though a beta, still has to put up with that smell at dinners. He wonders how he manages it.

The sound of footsteps on the pavement behind him snap him from his thoughts. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prick to standing and he shudders, turning quickly on his heels. He blinks hard when he's met with the glaring face of Derek Hale. For a moment he's convinced that he's about to have the shit kicked out of him for getting his fucked up thoughts everywhere but Derek doesn't show any indication that he plans on moving sometime soon.

The pair stands there in the moonlight for what feels like centuries - Stiles fidgeting on the spot; Derek staring daggers into Stiles with his penetrating gaze. It's quiet for far too long and Stiles breaks easily. "Can I help you with something?" The sardonic tone is probably not something you want to try if you're hoping to avoid getting your face caved in by a creeped out alpha, but Stiles doesn't have much of a filter.

Derek looks like he's trying to solve a complicated equation in his head before he speaks. He still has the red smudge of Jennifer's lipstick on his hair spattered neck. "I'm walking you home."

"Oh," Stiles blinks, pulling his head back a little in disbelief because that wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. He points to his house which is literally maybe twenty steps away from the Hales' - if that. "Well, I - I live there. I'm just next door, remember?"

This doesn't seem to mean shit to Derek because he doesn't look like he's taking in new information. "You're an omega and it's late."

"We're not scared of the dark, dude," Stiles chuckles. Derek's glare only gets deeper. His eyebrows - which are ridiculously bushy, by the way - scrunch together and Stiles is kind of into that.

Derek doesn't budge but grits his teeth instead. Stiles can see Laura's silhouette still stood in the doorway, peering out to see what's going on. "I'm walking you home, Stiles."

"Okay," He says, placatingly. He doesn't know this guy. He's spent an entire evening with him in complete silence with only intense eye contact and complex eyebrow movements shared between them. Plus, the man is an alpha. For all Stiles knows, he could be bat shit crazy. He decides it's best to tread lightly and give the man what he wants, just in case. "Well, this is me," He points towards his house with his thumb, "Thank you for walking me back."

"You're welcome," Derek growls and Stiles takes that as his cue to hurry back to his dimly lit little home. He looks back over his shoulder when he gets through the door, but Derek is nowhere to be seen and neither is Laura.

 

He barely manages to get his bedroom door shut before his spit slick hand is being shoved into his jeans. Derek may be kind of scary and a bit of a creeper but holy fuck is he hot. Stiles is a simple omega, he cannot be blamed for being a slave to his instincts.

Wrestling his clothes off when he's grasping his cock is a little difficult but he manages it, even if his jeans are knotted around his shoes that he didn't bother to take off first. Thighs free, he brings his knees up so he can access his hole, running his fingertip around where he's already burning hot and wet.

With Derek on his mind, he closes his eyes and plunges in.

 

It's only after he's finished, all leaking and sticky and blissed out, that he realises his window was open the whole time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, the next chapter is very Derek and Stiles-centric and Derek will be showing up in most of the chapters from here on out I think. Probably. Most likely. 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://milkysterek.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still counting this as being posted on time because if I haven't gone to bed for the night, even though it's 5am, it still counts as yesterday, right? Right?

Stiles wakes up the next morning and silently thanks whoever is up there that he doesn't have school today. He honestly doesn't think he could survive a full hour of Jennifer's death glare - because there is no way an educated woman like herself could be blind enough not to see what was going on at that dinner table. The whole neck kissing thing was kind of obvious, too. Stiles wonders if his bed might swallow him whole if he wishes hard enough. Thinking that unlikely, he resigns himself to a life of shame and rolls out of the covers and onto the floor. He should probably shower; crusty dried slick all over one's ass is never a good look.

His dad is still asleep when he comes downstairs so he helps himself to breakfast. There's a note stuck to the fridge - a shopping list - scrawled in the sheriff's handwriting and a handful of money on the bench beside it. Apparently, even though Stiles' humiliation after last night is most likely terminal, the world is still spinning and Stiles still has chores to do. Sweet. Pulling the note off of the fridge with one hand and shoving the remainder of his toast in his mouth with the other, he tugs on his shoes and heads out to the jeep.

The grocery store is on the way to the preserve so he decides to stop off there first. An old friend of his mother is getting on in years now and she struggles to get out and about. It's kind of a thing that Stiles gets her weeks groceries every Saturday. It's a job he took over from his mom when she passed and he's happy to do it. Besides, Mrs Goldroy is always extra nice to him and a lanky, unclaimed omega who'll be of mating age in half a year could use something to boost his confidence every now and again. Old ladies are great with that sort of stuff.

It's still pretty early so the store is practically empty. He wanders the aisles, doubling back every now and then when he forgets something. There's a pretty, floral pink watering can on sale and although it's just a tad too small to be practical, he buys it anyway. With his own money, of course, not Mrs Goldroy's.

The woman is still asleep when he pulls up to her house so he lets himself in with the key she'd trusted him with all those years ago and sorts through her cupboards, putting the food in the correct places. There's a strawberry candy sat waiting for him on the end table by the door on his way out. He grins and pops it in his mouth. It's one hell of a payment.

He's still sucking on the sugary candy when he parks outside of the preserve. The trunk of the jeep is filled with gardening equipment and tools and Stiles grunts as he tries to balance them all on his body. It's hard work and by the time he's made it deep into the woods and arrived at the vegetable patch he's wheezing and sweating. It wouldn't hurt him to start working out but that's not something he's even going to consider.

Dumping his stuff on the ground with a clatter, he collapses on the cold forest floor. There is lots to do and he has little motivation to do it. Then he remembers that this is his mother's vegetable patch, the one he and his father had put together in her memory and he feels less inclined to bum around doing nothing.

He tends to the cutesy white picket fence first, the one that surrounds the patch. It's more for decoration's sake than anything else; no one ventures this deep into the preserve so it's not like they need to try and keep people away from it. The fence isn't that high. It only comes up to Stiles' knees so he sits on his ass while he mends one of the fallen panels. Careful not to bash his fingers - because let's be real, that's something Stiles would definitely do - he hammers in the nails and makes a mental note to bring the paint next time. The fence is starting to look weather worn and he can't be having that.

After the loose panels are safely back in place, his only injury being a _huge fucking spelk_ that refuses to budge out of his finger, he starts on the vegetables. His lettuces are nice and ready and so are his radishes. He digs them out, being careful not to be too rough and deposits them one after the other into his canvas bag. Then he plants some new seeds for over the winter and stands, brushing the dirt from his now black at the knee khaki pants. Not that he minds, he rarely returns home from the preserve without some sort of stain on his clothing. Whether that be dirt, paint or sometimes blood if he doesn't watch where he's walking.

Picking up the canvas bag, he hauls it over his shoulder and tries not to wince from the weight the vegetables put on his shoulder. He carries them off down a well-trodden path that leads towards a small stream. Stiles' mom used to bring him here all the time as a child. She said that if you throw a coin in the stream and make a wish, that wish would come true.

Stiles can barely stand the sight of all the coins that shimmer under the clear water, piling one on top of the another from when Claudia had been dying.

He washes the vegetables thoroughly, his cold, wet hands making him shiver. Some of the water gets on his sleeves and he curses, knowing it'll irritate him until they dry again.

He's just standing up after disgruntledly packing his haul away when a scent floats by him, riding on the breeze. Blinking foggily, he doesn't feel himself pick up his bag and start walking through the trees, straying away from the path. He doesn't know where he's going, just that something is pulling him. Like it's reaching into his chest and _tugging_. Stiles knows it's not a good idea, that he shouldn't stray far from familiar areas, but he can't stop himself. _He needs to find that scent_.

 

Stiles regrets his decision almost immediately, but not soon enough that he has any chance of finding his way back to the river or his mother's vegetable patch. His shoulder is _screaming_ from the weight of the bag and he's not sure how long he's been walking but whenever the canopy above him tapers off for a moment all he can see are the stars and the big full moon hanging heavy in the sky. So, yeah. He's been walking all day.

His throat is dry, his lips are chapped, everything hurts and he just wants to cry. He still can't find that scent, in fact, it went cold so long ago that he can't remember what it even smelled like - just that it was good and he wanted it. _So bad_. To make matters worse, his phone was back at the vegetable patch along with the keys to his jeep and his supplies.

This was a stupid idea. A _stupid_ , _stupid_ idea.

At some point he ends up taking an even worse route and finds himself haveing to hold his usable hand out in front of his face, feeling his way through the darkness.

It doesn't take long for him to fall.

He feels the ground slip from under him and then he's tumbling. The last thing he remembers before he passes out is the green flash of lettuce flying everywhere.

 

Stiles is warm. He's warm and he's comfortable and yeah, a little in agony, but that heady scent is back so he's not complaining. He'll have plenty of time for complaining once he's conscious and has the ability to actually speak. He's not sure what's happening to him, just that whatever it is is pleasant and that he feels oddly safe, calm and not at all like he just fell down a hill in the middle of a dark forest while his dad probably has the entire Sheriff's station out looking for him.

He stays like that for a while, kind of swaying though he's not sure how that's happening since he's definitely not moving on his own. Still not complaining, though. But it isn't too long before he finally comes to his senses and... _yeah_.

 

Toffee eyes snap open, wide and alert, desperately trying to take in their surroundings. It becomes clear very quickly that someone is carrying him - _bridal style_. Stiles is in a dudes arms. A great smelling, muscular dude that makes him feel protected and secure, but a dude non-the-less. He panics, thrashing around until he's tumbling from his kidnapper's grip and out onto a grassy surface. They're not in the forest anymore. The guy has brought him to a clearing that Stiles doesn't recognise and - oh fuck.

He gulps, trying to back away on his ass from the burnt out shell that used to be a house. It looks like something out of a horror movie, all grand and looming and blackened from burning and rot. He's lost, he's in the dark, he's been brought to what could quite possibly be a torture house and there's a _dude_ with him. And who cares how good he smells, this is _not_ an ideal situation.

"Stiles, _easy_. It's okay."

He recognises that voice. It's light and gentle and a little higher than his own. He remembers thinking that that voice should be lower for the man it belongs too, but he's a big fan of it anyway.

Derek Hale, dressed in a boner popping leather jacket and a tight dark green henley, is leaning down in front of him, taking him by the chin and looking him deeply in the eyes. Stiles wonder's for a second if the man is going to kiss him and figures that he probably has a concussion because like that is ever going to happen.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks and there's such heavy sincerity behind the question that Stiles feels his eyes dampening. He tries to hold it back, he hates that stereotype about omegas being damsels in distress, but he's upset and he wants to go home and Derek is asking if he's okay. _He's not okay_. So, he cries.

He doesn't even care that Derek can see him crying because he lost all his vegetables and his dad is going to kill him for leaving the tools and his phone behind. His ankle is burning and his head hurts and his muscles ache and today is the worst. The only thing that calms his sobbing to gentle sniffles is when Derek takes off his leather jacket and wraps it around Stiles' shoulders. The jacket is cosy and - _Derek is the smell_.

"Were you following me?" Stiles asks, drying his eyes on Derek's sleeve.

Derek frowns, eyebrows bunching up together until they almost form one giant superbrow. " _No_. Why would you be following you?"

Stiles shrugs and allows Derek to lift him up, "I don't know. I picked up your scent around noon and went looking for you."

The alpha carries him over to the house and a brief flash of panic strikes at his core before he realises Derek is heading towards the sleek, black sports car that's parked out front. Derek helps him into the front passenger's side and closes the door on him before climbing into the other side. Stiles does up his seatbelt. "So you were following me?" Derek looks at him expectantly and Stiles splutters.

"No!" He defends, looking pointedly out of the window, "Well, sort of. I was following someone, but I didn't know it was _you_. There was a scent and I liked it so I went looking for it and that scent just _happened_ to be you. It wasn't like I _knew_ it was you and went looking _purposely_ to find you. I went looking purposely to find a scent - which was you, but how was I supposed to know it was you? _I don't know everything, Derek_. But, the point is, I was following a nice scent. That's all."

Stiles wonders if his bed will still swallow him up when he gets home if he asks really, really nicely. The silence in the car makes him want to throw himself under the wheels as they pull away from the house and drive off into the night.

They've been ignoring each other for a good twenty minutes and are just pulling up outside of the hospital when Derek finally asks, "You think I smell good?"

 _Great_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should we play a game where we pretend I announced my small break from writing instead of disappearing for weeks on end without word? Because that's totally what happened, right? RIGHT???? (Please be gentle with me I've very ill)
> 
> [tumblr](http://milkysterek.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who went missing? Not me. Ha. A ha ha. Ha. Hmm.

"If you think about it," Stiles starts, gesturing with his palms to the ceiling and trying to paint a look of sincerity onto his features which he doesn't think has washed over with his dad since he was five. "Thinking I was dead yesterday has probably reminded you on some instinctual level of how important to you I am. You could say, in fact, that me disappearing all day and turning up at the hospital with a twisted ankle and a not-as-serious-as-you-keep-making-out head wound has made you love me more."

The sheriff is leaning up against the kitchen counter with one hand gripping his coffee cup, the other is massaging his temple. To say he hadn't been impressed by yesterday's shenanigans would be an understatement. Upon his arrival at the hospital, there had been a lot of whispered swearing, threats of groundings and a brief pondering whether it is ethical to perform an abortion after seventeen years. Stiles is just glad his dad's face has gone back to its natural colour.

"Stiles," He sighs, taking a deep breath and wiping at his forehead. "I'm going to need you to leave the house so I don't kill you and lose my job. Go back and get your stuff from the preserve," Knowing that his dad would never really hurt him, but not wanting to suffer any more disappointed glances, Stiles nods and heads to the front door. "And Stiles?"

"Yeah, dad?" He asks, pulling on his shoes.

His dad shakes his head and downs the last of his coffee. "Try not to get lost this time."

"You got it, daddy-o," The boy grins and stumbles upright, being careful not to put too much weight on his ankle and opens up the front door, the keys to his dad’s car dangling from his fingers. "Uhhh..."

The sheriff looks up from where he's started reading the paper, leafing through the pages to the sports section. "What? Why the 'uh'?"

Parked in the Stilinski's driveway, in the exact place she had been yesterday morning before Stiles made the decision to drive into the preserve, sits Roscoe looking for all the world like she's supposed to be there. The more Stiles stares at her, the more he's convinced that she's cleaner than when he'd abandoned her. Someone has rescued his beloved jeep and even given her a bath. What in the fuck?

Something catches Stiles' eye, right in the corner of his vision and he turns to find his vegetable and tool bags along with the keys to his jeep, his mobile phone and...

Stiles picks up the bouquet and lifts his fingertips to stroke the silky petals. They're roses; all a beautiful shades of blue, staring at gentle eggshell that gradient out to darker, more royal blues. The roses are wrapped in matching paper and finished with a bow. There's a white rectangle card sticking out between the flowers and he pulls it out, running it over in his hand. It's addressed to him.

"Who are they from?" His dad asks from over his shoulder, making Stiles flail a little.

Stiles shrugs and grabs his keys and phone, stuffing them into his pockets. "I don't know. Just says Stiles on the note. Whoever it was spelt it with a 'y', though."

His dad doesn't pick up on the lie and Stiles celebrates the small victory in silence as he walks to the kitchen to put the flowers in water. He knows exactly who the flowers are from. Derek is the only person - excluding the sheriff - so far who knew he was even out at the preserve that day and Stiles is a cops kid; Derek is the obvious suspect and it doesn't slip Stiles by. The thing he doesn't know, however, is why he left them. He can't find any convincing reason for it. Maybe they're like a get well soon thing? He doesn't know.

Stiles pricks his finger on a throne while he's cutting the roses and hisses which, because his life sucks, reminds him of the spelk that's still embedded loud and proud under the skin of the very same finger. He sucks the blood away, feeling sorry for himself and looks up in search of a band-aid to find his father staring at him with a strange look.

"Wassup?" Stiles asks, fishing through a draw until he finds what he's looking for. He peels away the slippery paper and wraps the band-aid around the wound before turning back to his flowers.

There's a long pause before his father speaks, he busies himself with arranging the roses while he waits. The sheriff finally clears his throat and Stiles meets his eyes just in time to see the man shake his head. "Nothing. Nothing, son," Stiles squints but he can't figure out what's off with his dad. "I'll be home late. Make sure you eat something."

“Sure thing,” He nods and continues his battle with the roses. It’s only when he hears the click of the front door and his dad pulling away from the house does he allow himself to deflate. He hasn’t really thought about yesterday much. It’s awkward. He cried. There’s no coming back from that.

Yet Derek had been so kind to him. He’d rescued him from an excruciatingly embarrassing, vegetable covered death, driven him to the hospital, cleaned his jeep, brought back his belongings - including his veggies, god bless - and left him flowers too. That’s… a lot.

He’s not really sure what to make of that. No one’s ever bought him flowers before - and these are some fancy flowers. He read up on blue roses once and they’re expensive, far too expensive for some scrawny, unclaimed omega who has exactly zero assets. If anything, he’s a liability, what with his loud mouth and lack of impulse control. Those aren’t things alphas look for in a mate. It would be humiliating to end up with someone like Stiles.

Not that Derek is looking to mate Stiles. That would be absurd. So, so absurd. It’s just flowers. Flowers and his car and his vegetables. No biggie.

Calling someone is probably the best idea right now, so that’s what he decides to do. There isn’t really anyone he can talk to from school; Scott’s got that whole Allison obsession going on, Harley’s great but she’d much rather hit golf balls off the school roof than talk about bonding and Stiles sure as hell can’t ask Cora about this. He doesn’t even want to think about how that conversation would go. Shudder.

That leaves Heather.

Stiles grimaces. He and Heather were best friends when they were kids, spent every free moment together, even wore matching outfits (which is never to be spoken about… ever) but they’ve kind of grown apart lately. Once Harley claimed her things just sort of… tapered off. They didn’t fall out or anything but finding your bondmate is special and Stiles doesn’t blame the girls for becoming kind of self-involved. After all, that’s what’s currently happening to Scott and he doesn’t hold it against him - finds it weird, but doesn’t hold it against him. Maybe he and Heather could use a good chat, she’d always been great with feelings so what is there to lose?

Taking the stairs two at a time, Stiles pulls out his phone and presses Heather’s number, trying not to feel guilty that she isn’t in his recent contacts. The phone dials and he opens up his window, hoisting himself up to sit sideways along the ledge, relaxing back against the frame. His room is hotter than usual and the breeze that twirls past him and into the clammy house is a blessing.

He can see the Hale’s backyard from here and notices Laura on her hands and knees, finishing up with some gardening. Sensing someone staring at her, she stands and looks around before landing her eyes on Stiles and smiling brightly. She waves and Stiles waves back then watches as she heads back into her house and closes the door behind her. He decides to keep his voice down.

“Hello?” Heather’s curious tone snaps Stiles out of his thoughts and he smiles at the sound of his old friend’s voice. There’s music playing in the background, some upbeat pop song that she’s probably listening to on repeat and will continue to do until she hates it.

“Uh, hi. It’s Stiles,” He ventures, cringing at how unsure he sounds. This is Heather he’s talking to.

The girl chuckles and her music shuts off. There’s a squeaking of bedsprings and Stiles guesses she must be getting comfortable, which is a good sign. “I know, doofus. Caller ID?” She says patronisingly, but Stiles can hear the humour in her voice. She isn’t mad. “Long time no see. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s up. Not with me. Not with Stiles. Just chillin’, you know, same old me.” Sometimes, he really hates himself. He doesn’t know why he tries to play things cool, it never comes out that way. You’d think he’d learn. He rallies and lets out a breathy laugh. “What’s up with you?”

“Uh-huh,” She makes a noncommittal sound, unconvinced and Stiles can imagine how she’d twirl her curly blonde hair around her finger, eyebrow raised. He wonders if his exposure to Heather at such a young age was what had pushed him toward Lydia Martin. “I just got back from shopping with Danielle and now I’m trying to see through your bullshit. Give it up, Stilinski.”

He relents because really, what’s the point in trying? Groaning, he takes another sweeping look across the Hale’s yard before climbing back into his bedroom and closing the window, locking it behind him. “Okay, so, I might be having some boy trouble.”

There’s a pregnant pause while Stiles waits for some kind of reaction. Honestly, the silence kind of creeps him out. Heather isn’t one to be, well, silent. His room is too stuffy and he regrets leaving the cool window ledge already. He thinks that maybe his dad put the heating on before he left but that seems unlikely. Finally, when one a tiny bead of sweat has prickled at the top of his upper lip, she responds. “I’m coming over.”

“You’re what? Why?” He squeaks and glares at his wall - because fuck squeaking. Sure, he’s super uncomfortable with this conversation and what is sure to come after it but there’s no need to embarrass himself more than necessary.

It’s not that Stiles is emotionally constipated, he actually thinks he has quite a healthy relationship with his feelings (thanks, dad), it’s that once he tells someone, they’re going to read into it. He’s chosen to tell Heather, which means he’s also inadvertently chosen to also tell Harley and Danielle and probably Heather’s mother too. Not only that, but Heather is going to come to some sort of conclusion which will probably end in her forcing him to do something that will ultimately lead to humiliation. (See: When Heather met Lydia)

Stiles can hear thumping and the sound of a door being slammed shut and he guesses this is a thing that is happening. “Because,” Heather says in a sing-song voice while the gentle purr of an engine starting rumbles in the background, “We haven’t talked in months and suddenly you ring me out of the blue with boy trouble? Whatever this is, I’m in.”

“It really isn’t anything,” Stiles mumbles and heads back downstairs to make sure the front door is unlocked for her.

“Even better!” She chimes. “That means we can make it something. I’ll be there in ten. Make tea!”

 

Stiles sturrs the creamy brown liquid, watching the water swirl while he bites the inside corner of his mouth. Heather is sat at the small, rickety kitchen table with her own cup, blowing the steam away from her face before taking a sip. He’s just finished explaining yesterday’s events, plus the things that he found on his doorstep earlier and is anxiously awaiting her verdict. 

Placing her cup back on the table, she leans forward with a predatory smirk on her lips, blonde hair falling forward to frame her face. “He wants to fuck,” She purrs and Stiles’ mouth falls open.

It’s hard to find words for a while and when he finally does they come out all garbled and spluttery. “What?! No! That does not-! No!” Stiles abandons the bench where his untouched tea still sits and begins to pace. “Flowers do not equate sex. That’s ridiculous, Heather.”

“Maybe not,” She shrugs, grinning toothily at him, looking like the devil in a sundress. “But he’s interested. Not that I know much about the ever mysterious Derek Hale, but Danielle swears she saw him at the grocery store once buying meat and he was super rude to her - and he glares constantly. Does that sound like the type of guy who goes around buying blue roses for anyone?” Stiles is unconvinced and Heather sighs. “Stiles, he damsel in distress rescued you, he went back to the preserve and got your jeep for you, he foraged around in a ditch for your vegetables which is weird, Stiles, that’s weird. Then, on top of that, he got you flowers? _Expensive_ flowers. That’s a little overkill for someone who is permanently frowning. Therefore, he wants to fuck.”

Stiles stops pacing and collects his tea, taking the seat opposite Heather. He looks down at it for a quiet moment before taking a drink. “He has a girlfriend.”

“Are they mated?” She asks, sitting further into her chair now that she’s satisfied that he’s playing along.

He shakes his head.

“Then he’s fair game.”

“She’s also my teacher,” He adds, trying to burst her bubble.

Heather pauses, wavering on some thought that Stiles doesn’t even want to _ponder_. “ _Oh_ my God,” A slow grin creeps its way onto her features. “Stiles, do you know what this means?” He shakes his head - because he truly has no idea where she’s going with this but he’s certain he wants to turn back. He probably should have called Scott. “ _ Steal your teacher’s man. _ ”

“Why are you like this?” He sighs and takes a gulp of his tea, running his fingers through his hair with his free hand.

Heather huffs, “Because Harley and I have decided not to have sex until out mating night and I need to live vicariously through  _ someone _ now that Danielle and Stephen have broken up. Besides, Derek is super hot and you deserve a mate who is super hot.”

That statement was probably supposed to be touching and Stiles gets it. Back before she found her bondmate, Stiles and Heather would spend hours drooling over alphas online and wallowing in their shared misery over their eternal virginities. Of course, Heather has Harley now and he finds it a little difficult to feel sorry for her, even if she isn’t actually getting any. That’s not the point. At least she isn’t single.

“So,” Stiles begins, putting his cup down and crossing one arm over the other. “You think I should break the sacred omega code and literally steal my teacher’s potential mate who also happens to be the older brother of one of my friends, jeopardizing my grades and a friendship because Derek Hale, who you have described as rude, glaring constantly and permanently frowning - because he’s ‘ _super hot_ ’.”

“No,” Heather says primly, lifting her cup to her lips, “Because of the vegetables.”

 

Heather leaves a few hours after that; she has a date with Harley and she needs a good, lengthy amount of time to get ready. Stiles doesn’t really understand it but that’s because he chooses to live the life of a couch potato. 

It’s just starting to get dark outside when he walks her to the door. Heather giggles and Stiles isn’t sure why until she’s climbing into her mom’s car and peeling out of the driveway. It’s only then that his senses catch what must have amused her. Sitting on the porch, in the same place his vegetables had been only a few hours earlier, is a bag of piping hot takeout food. Chinese, if his nose isn’t deceiving him.

Stiles’ phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket. It’s a text from Heather.

  
‘ **He wants to fuck.** ’

  
Setting his jaw, he shoves his phone back into the pocket of his hoodie, picks up the bag of takeout and descends the stairs of the porch, determined to get to the bottom of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to be too real but sometimes the psychosis and the bipolar just take over your life and want you to take naps and do some of your colouring book and they really really don't want you to write but who the fuck cares because I'm back now I mean maybe I was never gone maybe you all took a giant group nap and I was here waiting for you the whole time did you ever think of that??????
> 
> (Back to regular updates my dudes)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gentle peace sign*

Stiles storms over to the Hales’ house and climbs the short steps to the porch. There’s a light on inside and he can see Derek and Laura watching television through the living room window, illuminated by a warm, orange glow from the old fashioned lamp that sits on a side table next to Laura. Derek scratches at the back of his neck, looking uneasy until he turns his head and spots Stiles. His eyes widen a fraction and Stiles squints. Keeping his eyes on Derek, he knocks on the door in three short bursts. 

When Laura answers, Stiles is still staring Derek down. It probably looks weird, all things considered. “Stiles?” She asks, leaning forward out of the doorway and twizzling her body so she too can peer through the window. “What are you doing?”

“Is Derek in?” He asks as if it isn’t blatantly obvious that he can see the man quite clearly. 

Laura blinks at him slowly. “I don’t know,” She says sarcastically, but there’s a smile curling at her lips. “Would you like me to go check?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Snickering, Laura disappears through the door and reappears in the living room. Stiles can’t hear what she’s saying but whatever it is makes Derek shift uncomfortably. The Chinese food weighs heavy in his hand as he watches Derek stand, brush himself off and stride out of the room. Sweat prickles at the back of his neck and he worries his lip. Now that he’s about to be face to face with the alpha, this whole thing seems kind of ridiculous. He doesn’t know Derek. Derek has a girlfriend. Derek’s girlfriend is his English teacher. Heather is evil. 

“Can I help you?” Stiles snaps his hazy, distant eyes away from the window and is immediately met with Derek’s frowning face. The walk from the living room to the porch seems to have been enough to wipe any shock off of the man’s expression and replace it with a tired sort of disdain. The alpha looks rumpled; his hair is kind of messy, his eyes have dark yet not unappealing circles underneath them and there are blotchy marks on his neck that make Stiles’ stomach twist in a way he doesn’t want to name. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Stiles lifts his chin and shakes the white plastic carrier bag that’s looped around his fingers. “What is this?”

Derek raises a brow and crosses his strong arms over his chest. “It looks like takeout.”

“I know what it-!” He runs his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and rolls his shoulders, closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to regain his chill. “Why was it outside my house?”

“How would I know that?” There’s a sharp and challenging look on Derek’s face that makes Stiles feel uneasy, like he’s trapped in his skin and it’s too tight for him to move. There’s a part of Stiles that thinks Derek looks smug, in his own irritated way. Perhaps he can smell the omega’s discomfort; perhaps he enjoys it. 

Stiles spares a glance toward the heavenly scented bag that hangs from his fingers and clenches his jaw so hard his gums ache. He’s not sure why Derek gets to him so much but he thinks it might have something to do with his dislike of arrogant alphas that try to bully or frighten omegas into submission. He could do without the patronisation and he refuses to be pushed around, especially by someone who has already proven himself to be a giant softie in disguise. 

“Because you left it there,” Stiles smirks when his retaliation pulls a look of surprise from the alpha. He mustn't have thought Stiles would be tactless enough to come right out with it and accuse him on his own porch. “Oh, I’m sorry,” He grins, relishing in his victory and batting his long eyelashes innocently against his plump cheeks, “Was it supposed to be a secret?”

Derek’s biceps bulge and he looks thoroughly exasperated, staring off in the direction of the tree line across the road. Stiles is beginning to think he’s being ignored when Derek finally deflates and all the tension leaves his coiled muscles. He looks smaller like this, less like he’s ready for a fight. 

“You hurt your ankle,” He grumbles, then rolls his eyes and elaborates when Stiles looks as unimpressed as he had done before. “I don’t want you walking around on it. This way you don’t have to cook.”

Stiles blinks, opens his mouth and closes it again before finally speaking. “Oh, well… that’s very nice of you.”

Derek dampens his lips and steps forward. Stiles takes one step back. “If it’s so nice, why do you still look pissed?” When Stiles doesn’t answer immediately - because, honestly, what is he supposed to say to that? He has no idea why he’s so wound up and that’s kind of embarrassing - the alpha makes a noise in the back of his throat that Stiles thinks might be a growl and he shivers. “Why are you here, omega?”

A cold breeze whips out from the treeline and Stiles shivers, pulling his hoodie closer around his pale form. There are goosebump all risen and hard on his arms and he’s not one hundred percent sure they’re from the temperature. Either way, it’s time to wrap this up, he thinks. “I guess,” He begins, with a little less determination than he’d had at the start of this conversation. “Have you eaten?”

Derek glares, “Not yet.”

“Then,” Try as he might, he can’t actually look at Derek when he asks this, so chooses to look back through the Hales’ window while he speaks, “Would you like to come over to mine and eat this?” Lifting the plastic bag, he wiggles it in midair, letting it rustle while the scent of warm food washes over the pair. “You did buy it, after all.”

There’s a long moment of heavy silence and Stiles is content on staring into the living room window, that is until he catches Laura staring back, a perplexed look on her elegant features. Stiles skits his eyes back over to Derek, just in time to see the man sigh and drop his arms and, Stiles thinks, his guard. This is a good thing. 

“Fine.”

 

Derek is strangely polite when he’s a guest in somebody else’s home. That would be normal for anyone else, but Stiles was surprised to see it from Derek. He’d stopped his growling, lost his standoffish demeanour (which might have been influenced by Stiles getting rid of the chip on his own shoulder) and even managed to calm his eyebrows down. Stiles didn’t know that last one was even possible. The more you know. 

“What?” Stiles asked, shooting his gaze over his shoulder. He was trying to dish the Chinese food out onto plates but Derek was meandering in the kitchen doorway, rocking backwards and forwards on his feet like he didn’t know what to do with himself. There was way too much and there was no way Stiles would be giving the leftovers to his dad. Maybe he could dish some up for Laura, Cora and Jordan and have Derek take it over for them later. 

Clearing his throat, Derek stepped further into the kitchen. “Is there anything I should be doing to help?”

Stiles huffed a laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “There’s nothing you  _ should _ be doing, but if you want to help you can get two glasses out of that cupboard and pour us some drinks. There’s juice in the fridge; I’d offer you a beer but if my dad notices there’s one missing he’ll haul me and Scott up to the station again.” That was one incident Stiles did  _ not _ want a repeat of. 

“You’re not going to tell your dad that I’m here?” 

It’s strange that Derek chose  _ that _ part of his confession to pick apart but Stiles supposes it’s a valid question. He hasn’t thought about it all that much. His dad is working late tonight and realistically won’t be home until the early hours of the morning by the time he finishes running errands, so there really isn’t any point in texting him a heads up that he has someone over. Then again, Derek is an alpha and it feels like maybe that means he should tell his dad. Stiles has had such bad luck with potential mates, the sheriff would likely buy out an entire burger joint just to celebrate him being in Derek’s presence. 

But Derek has a girlfriend and no matter what Heather might have put into Stiles’ head, he can’t see his dad being happy about Stiles getting cosy with someone else's alpha. Not that they’re even getting cosy; Stiles has just spent a good ten minutes sassing the man on his doorstep.

Stiles shrugs again and watches as Derek pours the juice into the glasses, then places the carton of orange back in the fridge. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“No.”

There’s something about Derek’s voice and the way his shoulders go rigid, like how they are most of the time, that makes Stiles think that it  _ does _ matter. He offers an alternative, “I mean, I can tell my dad if you want. It isn’t a big deal.”

Derek nods and his shoulders relax again. “I think that would be a good idea,” He says, picking up the full glasses. “Where should I put these?”

“In the living room,” Stiles tells him and follows soon after with the plates balanced in his hands. The pair sit down on the sofa and Stiles reaches for the remote, turning the tv on - he’s pretty sure silence with Derek Hale would be more than awkward. Once they’re comfortable and picking at their food, Stiles clears his throat, “Why do you want me to tell my dad?”

He isn’t hoping for anything, not really. Sure, he’d like it if Derek said he wants the sheriff to know because it’s the respectful thing to do when an alpha takes interest in an omega but he knows how unlikely that is and he’s okay with it. Still, that doesn’t stop the tingling blush that peppers his cheeks and the back of his neck, like  _ anything _ would be able to stop that. The living room is stuffy enough without embarrassment added to it, clouding the air. God, give him a break. 

“Like you said,” Derek begins, taking a sip of his juice to clear his throat. “It isn’t a big deal. I just think that if  _ my _ child was alone in the house with a strange, older man, I’d want to know about it.”

“You think you’re strange?” Stiles smirks and Derek rolls his eyes. It feels like a victory. 

They eat quietly, occasionally commenting on something on the television (Stiles) and making various agreeing sounds (Derek). For the most part, though, they’re silent. It isn’t as bad as Stiles thought it would be. 

The pair is long done with their meal and watching reruns of Friends when Stiles decides to clear the plates. His dad’s been working a lot lately and the last thing Stiles wants is for the sheriff to come home to dirty dishes everywhere. He scrapes the plates into the bin and places them in the sink, making a mental note to wash them later. Then he pours two more drinks before starting work on the leftovers. He puts up four plates, thinking that  _ maybe _ his dad can have a little after he gets home and then pauses. 

He puts up a fifth plate. 

It’s when he’s walking back into the living room, glasses of juice in hand that the splinter that’s been bothering him makes a reappearance. Stiles winces and places the glasses down. It’s a sharp sort of pain, like an irritating twinge and he shoves his finger in his mouth, biting at the injury. Biting it doesn’t make a lot of sense, it’s not like gnawing at himself is going to stop the pain but he does it anyway. At least the stronger pain of the bite helps take his mind off the sharper one. 

“What are you doing?” 

Stiles looks down to meet Derek’s concerned and slightly weirded out eyes and notices abruptly that he’s stood in the middle of the floor, feasting on his own hand. 

“Uhh,” He searches for words but they don’t come. Instead, he quickly scurries back to his side of the couch and sits down, making sure to tuck his finger between his thighs to stop the temptation of biting again. Second time lucky, “I got a splinter when I was gardening,” He explains, hoping to distract from the hand eating incident. There’s still spit on his finger and he feels kind of stupid.

Derek frowns, “Let me see.”

“What?” He asks, tightening his thighs around his finger as if that will somehow protect it from Derek’s prying eyes. 

The alpha holds out his hand, palm turned upwards, “Please.”

The gentleness of Derek’s voice stirs something inside Stiles that he really hopes isn’t in any way detectable and reluctantly hands over his… hand. Derek takes hold of Stiles’ finger and gently moves it around, using the pad of his thumb to find the tiny splinter. It isn’t very noticeable now that it’s been lodged in there a while and it takes Derek a little while to find the right stop. Stiles feels like his lips are glued together. 

“How did you do this?”

Stiles flashed his tongue out, dampening his lips so he could actually open them. His mouth should  _ not _ be that dry. “I was fixing the fence at my vegetable patch,” Derek raises his eyebrows at that and Stiles scowls. “What? You think cause I’m an omega that I can’t build shit?”

Derek just smirks back. “No,” He says, amusement in his voice. “But I had you pegged as more of a comic books and video games guy, from what Cora tells me.”

The first thing he wants to say is ‘ _ Cora tells you about me _ ’ but thankfully his brain to mouth filter is on his side for once. “I can be both,” He instead says, lifting his chin a little loftily. 

“Yes, you can.”

Stiles is too busy being mock-offended to notice his finger being pulled further away until something wet and warm is enveloping the digit and every last nerve in his body explodes all at once. 

His finger is in Derek’s mouth.

_ His finger is in Derek’s mouth! _

It’s warm inside there; Stiles can feel Derek’s tongue. It soft and silky and holy shit his finger is in Derek’s mouth. There’s a sharp pain and Stiles gasps, pulling his wet and slick finger from between Derek’s lips and clutches it to his chest. He hopes the look on his face is one of accusation but Stiles has a sneaking suspicion it’s more on the horny side like the rest of his body. 

The pain is gone and when Stiles realises he looks down, inspecting the wet digit. He looks up again and meets Derek’s eyes just in time to see the man pick the splinter out of his mouth and place it on the coffee table in front of them. 

He’d pulled it out.

This time the silence is definitely awkward. 

“I got it out.”

Stiles nods, “Yes.”

“I should be going.”

He nods again, “Yes.”

It isn’t that Stiles  _ wants _ Derek to leave but there is no shadow of a doubt in his mind that the entire living room is saturated in his pheromones and frankly, right now he really, really wants to bury himself in his back garden. He’d invite Derek to stay but digging his own grave kind of feels like a private affair. Tonight’s been nice, though. There’s been yelling, unnecessary presumptions, Chinese food and finger sucking; a truly high-class evening. Stiles wants to die. 

Derek stands abruptly and makes for the door without another word. That would probably hurt Stiles if he wasn’t so mortified and at risk of combusting from the sexual tension. He’s horny - so,  _ so _ fucking horny - and if Derek doesn’t get out soon so he can shove his hand down his pants, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. They can make up for the lack of pleasantries next time they see each other but there’s no time for that right now. 

The front door slams shut behind Derek and Stiles’ bolts for the stairs. It’s like he can’t get to his room quick enough and by the time he reaches his bed he’s already lost his shirt somewhere along the way. His ass is leaking and he has no idea when that started; he hopes to god that it wasn’t while Derek was still sat beside him. 

He tumbles onto the sheets and spreads his legs nice and wide before plunging his fingers into his tight heat with no prep necessary. The slickness of his ass makes his cheeks flush and he closes his eyes, remembering the way Derek’s warm tongue had pressed against Stiles’ finger before he removed the splinter. He wonders what it would feel like to have Derek do this to him. Derek’s fingers are long and thick and Stiles is willing to bet he could cum on one alone.

Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he could find it in himself to wait it out, wait for Derek’s big alpha cock to fill him up, to knot him and mate him until he's begging for Derek’s cum. 

Stiles adds another finger and moans. He’s so, so wet and his skin burns like fire. The way he feels in Derek’s presence is like nothing he has ever felt before. It’s hypnotic and all consuming and so fucking good just to think about. 

There’s no way he’s going to last much longer, not with the image of Derek sucking on his finger so vivid in his mind. With one last stroke of his insides, curling his fingers at just the right time, Stiles cums with a broken and needy sob. 

He’s a mess, all covered in his own cum and eyes red from tears he hadn’t realised were there but he’s so tired and there isn’t an ounce of him that can bring himself to walk to the bathroom to get clean. Instead, he pulls the covers down and then back up around him. He curls up on his side, presses his face into his pillow and lets the heavy afterglow take him away to sleep. 

 

He completely forgets about the plates. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My entry for the reverse bang is done and posted so I actually have time to update this now! Daaaaang. Idk man my life got very very busy and like... good? My life is great right now. But yeah, HERE'S AN UPDATE. I even have one for tomorrow too.... weird. Does this make sense? I don't know. 
> 
> Derek put Stiles' finger in his gob, isn't that wild???? Also, I just realised 'spelk' is a regional term from where I live and Stiles' inner monologue probably doesn't use Northern English slang so I used the word splinter instead for this chapter. Idk if it confused anyone before but - fuckin hell I'm so tired. 
> 
> Enjoy!xx


End file.
